stoutest of the three (softly, as became a young lady) was
snoring!

The unblemished reputation of the bedroom was dear to Emily, in
her capacity of queen. She felt herself humiliated in the
presence of the new pupil.

"If that fat girl ever gets a lover," she said indignantly, "I
shall consider it my duty to warn the poor man before he marries
her. Her ridiculous name is Euphemia. I have christened her (far
more appropriately) Boiled Veal. No color in her hair, no color
in her eyes, no color in her complexion. In short, no flavor in
Euphemia. You naturally object to snoring. Pardon me if I turn my
back on you--I am going to throw my slipper at her."

The soft voice of Cecilia--suspiciously drowsy in
tone--interposed in the interests of mercy.

"She can't help it, poor thing; and she really isn't loud enough
to disturb us."

"She won't disturb _you_, at any rate! Rouse yourself, Cecilia.
We are wide awake on this side of the room--and Francine says
it's our turn to amuse her."

A low murmur, dying away gently in a sigh, was the only answer.
Sweet Cecilia had yielded to the somnolent influences of the
supper and the night. The soft infection of repose seemed to be
in some danger of communicating itself to Francine. Her large
mouth opened luxuriously in a long-continued yawn.